


you run the life right out of my soul

by sovereign thunder (old_gods_of_asgard)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, Trope Subversion, implied past domestic violence, implied victim castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_gods_of_asgard/pseuds/sovereign%20thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's five years younger and handsome, so handsome, and charismatic and friendly and kind. Everyone at Raphael's going away party is someone he knows, or he makes them feel like he knows them, and they all want to be around him but he picks Balthazar out of his group of friends and coaxes him into an empty hallway upstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. la, la, la, i will have you yet - i will carry you there if i have to

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend, became accidental subversion along the way. Written on my tablet, so there may be errors - let me know in the comments!
> 
> If enough interest is shown, I'll write part two sometime this week. Hope you all enjoy.

He's five years younger and handsome, so handsome, and charismatic and friendly and kind. Everyone at Raphael's going away party is someone he knows, or he makes them feel like he knows them, and they all want to be around him but he picks Balthazar out of his group of friends and coaxes him into an empty hallway upstairs.

"What do you do for a living?" He eventually asks, nudging Balthazar's foot. His hands have never been so sweaty before, his stomach has never churned like this.

"I work in a lab, mostly," he scratches the inside of his arm trying not to sound nervous. "I study samples people send in for things like asbestos, black mold, that sort of thing."

"Oh, I bet you're smart," Castiel laughs and runs a hand along Balthazar's ankle. "I like smart boys, I don't know if I could ever be with one again. I'm not terribly smart myself, my ex used to make fun of me for it."

A lump forms at the sorrow in his eyes and the word 'baby' comes to mind and Balthazar feels so sour thinking anyone could hurt this poor beautiful man. A waterfall of excuses comes tumbling out of Balthazar's mouth, it's not that hard, he's not so smart, anyone could do it. Balthazar ask what he does for a living and he says he's the manager of a rental office, and he nods and leans forward and listens like it's the most interesting job in the world. Castiel keeps his hand on Balthazar's ankle and tells him a lot about himself and there's an edge of sadness to it, impossible sorrow that makes Balthazar want to hold his hand and cradle his face and tell him everything's gonna be okay.

 

Their first date is two weeks later. Castiel takes him out to coffee and the go to the park, and he pulls Balthazar into his arms and tells him his name is strange and he's beautiful. Balthazar feels warm all over, puts his hands on Castiel's shoulders and lets himself get carried away, lets himself fall in love.

Castiel visits his work sometimes, takes him out to lunch or brings him food. He brings Balthazar flowers and takes him out and makes him feel whole and wanted; even at only 30, no one will look at him, no one will touch him. But Castiel treats him like he's made of gold, like he's made of glass.

  
°

  
On their one year anniversary, Castiel takes him to Scotland.

 

°

  
On their second year anniversary, Castiel asks him to move in with him. He shows up at Balthazar's work at lunch time and brings him to the park, to their bench, where they sat on their first date. He puts his arm around Balthazar's shoulders and starts off by talking about meaningless things - what his day was like, what movie they'll be seeing that weekend, a dumb joke a coworker said - and ends up proposing the question rather suddenly.

There's a caged rat panic at the back of Balthazar's brain; Castiel wants to get a house, not an apartment, wants to blend their stuff together, wants to live with him. Balthazar doesn't know where the panic comes from. Castiel has told him before he's not sure they could live together, that he's terrified of being trapped like he was with Dean. Balthazar wants this, wants it something terrible, but he's scared Castiel's only asking because he thinks it's what Balthazar wants.

"Are you sure?" He finds himself asking even after they've signed the lease for the place they want. They're sitting in Castiel's car and his leg won't stop shaking. Castiel puts his hand on Balthazar's knee and grips his leg tight, kisses his cheek.

"I'm positive, honey," he swears, nuzzling Balthazar with his nose. "No roommates, no annoying neighbors, just me and you. I want this."

There's an apprehensive sorrow to his voice, the terror that Balthazar will back down. The blond breaths a sigh of relief and laces his fingers with Castiel's, returning the kiss. "Okay," he says, "okay, good."

And it is good, it's nice. Balthazar likes the house, with three bedrooms and a large living room and decent sized kitchen. He likes living in a closed off neighborhood where no one can really bother them, renting a place where they can paint the walls. That's his and Castiel's first disagreement, what color to paint the walls. He wants yellow, bright and sunny, and Castiel wants a dark red. It's petty and silly and even that makes Balthazar happy, to know the stuff they diverge on is small.

Until the bed.

Castiel's always had back problems, he's complained about it since day one. Balthazar can tell why on their first night together; Castiel's mattress is ancient and uncomfortable. They haven't even unpacked yet and Balthazar's shoulders are regretting agreeing to trade his pillow top in exchange for Castiel's cloth sack of stones.

"I'm telling you, it's that mattress," he chides his partner two weeks after they move in. He's hanging up work clothes in his closet while Castiel is folding socks and putting them away.

"It's not the fucking bed," he insists, slamming the dresser closed with a little more force than necessary.

"It's an old mattress, Cassie, honestly. It needs to be replaced."

"There's nothing wrong with my damned mattress," Castiel grunts. "You sound like Dean. Just drop it."

Balthazar makes a humming noise, irritated at Castiel's grouchy overreaction and comparison to his terrible ex. Without thinking he mutters, "Fine, be an idiot," under his breath, hangs the last shirt up and closes the closet door. When he turns around, Castiel's waiting, raising his fist up and slamming it into Balthazar's mouth. Castiel has weight on him and Balthazar goes tumbling back, the frail hollow door cracking under his fall. He hits the back wall and is winded.

Castiel's own expression is full of shock. He stares at Balthazar with wide eyes and a wide mouth, fist slowly uncurling. He takes a tentative step towards Balthazar with his own palm extended, reaching for him. "Baby," his voice trembles as much as his hand, "baby, I am so sorry, please, I-"

Balthazar's brain doesn't register an apology. It registers that someone has hurt him, that that person is reaching out for him once more, maybe to hurt him more. He flinches away from Castiel's hand, pulling back in a panic. He doesn't miss the betrayed look that flashes in Castiel's eyes or the way his hands briefly tighten into fists again.

Castiel leaves him there in the closet, fleeing in a panic. Balthazar's head thumps furiously, his heartbeat's terrified rhythmic jumble echoing in his head. 'Did that really just happen?' his thoughts squeaked, quiet in fear that Castiel would hear him somehow. 'Did he really just _hit_  me?'

At first glance, Balthazar wants to be angry. Castiel hit him and ran off like he'd shoulder checked a stranger. Then Balthazar touches his fingertips to his mouth, his nose, chin and cheeks and felt blood and winces at how tender it felt. Castiel had hit _him_ , but _he_ was the one who was scared. _Cas_  had run like he'd been the one punched.

Balthazar stands up on shaky legs and tries to reason it out. Dean, putrid waste of space that he was, Dean had taught him this, maybe. That the logical conclusion to their argument and his possibly stressful day was to lash out - physically - and Balthazar...

Well. He hasn't heard a door slam yet, Castiel could very well be in the house still. Shout he go and find him? But then he might feel cornered and blamed. Balthazar doesn't want to be the cause of that; he goes into the bathroom, cleans off his face, goes to the kitchen for ice to keep swelling down. Castiel isn't in any of the rooms he passes but the spare room doors are closed, and he could be in one of those. He doesn't bother finding out, not keen on facing a possibly still-angry Castiel. If he's careful - if he's quiet, maybe, Castiel can calm down. He gives his boyfriend space and goes to bed feeling uneasy.

When he gets back home after work, the bed is gone, replaced. Castiel doesn't mention it or the night before but he's Castiel once more, greeting Balthazar with a kiss and a smile. Balthazar feels his worry and fear melt away slowly, glad to have Castiel back.

 

°

  
He lets the incident go, files it away in the back of his mind never to be touched again. Castiel is gentle with him once more, showers him with affection, makes his friends jealous. Balthazar feels lucky once more.

And then Castiel asks him to quit his job.

It's an offhanded comment made during a bored Saturday afternoon conversation; Castiel watches TV, Balthazar reads, occasionally they discuss the show on the television or the characters in the book. It's just a simple comment, a hypothetical, and Balthazar responds with a scoff and the assurance that he has no interest in leaving his job.

Somehow, something in the way he says or _what_ he says sets Castiel off and before he knows it their simple silly conversation devolves into a full blown argument, to the point where Balthazar closes his book, gets up and goes into the kitchen.

His retreat is followed by the sound of glass shattering. Balthazar turns around in time to see Castiel advancing on him and see one of the panes on the back door has shattered. Castiel's fist is raised and Balthazar's lips and nose throb with the memory of being smeared with blood. In a panic he backs away until he's against the counter and Castiel is in the middle of the kitchen with his fist raised and his hand clenched tightly.

He doesn't follow any farther, seems glued to the spot, scared of what his own fist will do. Balthazar's own hand is halfway to the kitchen knives, ready to defend himself. He's not sure if it's this or if it's Castiel's own memory that stops him, but he backs away. Balthazar feels like he's starting at a cat with it's butt in the air, ready to strike.

Castiel doesn't pounce. He doesn't jump after Balthazar. He drops his fist and leaves.

Balthazar puts in his two weeks notice on Monday. Castiel is elated, pretends their conversation never happened. Balthazar feeds his boss and coworkers an excuse, pretends not to notice the disappointment in Raphael's face or the way Benny huffs and leaves. He doesn't understand why they're upset; it's not like he was in the middle of a project, or working towards any position. No one else has quit for a while.

He doesn't _want_ to leave. But Castiel can take care of them both, and he'd rather be jobless than have Castiel feel upset any further. It's not a big deal.

Even when Castiel starts getting angry more often, it's not a big deal. Castiel isn't angry with him normally, he's upset with work or friends, and Balthazar just steers clear when that happens. If he's ever angry with Balthazar, it doesn't always end with Balthazar getting hit - Castiel has more self restraint than that. Balthazar is grateful for that restraint.

About the sixth or seventh time Castiel hits him, he gives up looking in the mirror. They don't go out too often and it's not like he wears make up or has to do much with his hair. Castiel keeps watch of how he looks, tells him if something looks bad. Balthazar finds himself eating less because Castiel notices it - he's 32, he's always been kind of okay looking, but he knows natural age progression means it's harder to stay slimmer. He doesn't leave the house as often - why would he? what does he have outside? - and it's easier to not eat as much than it is to go out and work out.

He knows he's doing good when Castiel slides up behind him while he's cleaning a pot out and wraps his arms around Balthazar's waist. With his face buried into Balthazar's neck he takes in a deep breath and praises him. "You're so tiny," he kisses behind Balthazar's ear and runs a hand down his stomach. "I love it. I could steal you away."

Balthazar feels suddenly cold at those words, mouth dry and words threatening to burst out. 'You already did,' he wants to say, 'you already stole me.' But they're not nice words to say, so he wills himself to relax and hopes the chill can't be felt under through his skin. Castiel continues kissing Balthazar's neck and puts his hands on Balthazar's wrists, telling him to put the pot down and come to bed.

Balthazar doesn't want to have sex, Castiel's words linger at the back of his head like a dark, threatening cloud. If Castiel wanted something, it was better to give in; he didn't want to upset his boyfriend or cause a scene. He took off his gloves, set the clean pot aside and let Castiel pull him to the bedroom.

Balthazar and Castiel tended to differ on a lot of things and sex was a big one. Balthazar didn't like rough careless sex, craved gentle touches and compassion. Castiel seemed only capable of harsh and rough; when he pushed Balthazar onto the bed it was always a shove, and he kept his hands on Balthazar's shoulders to keep him pinned. He'll bite, too, or scratch Balthazar hard enough to leave angry red marks on his hips or thighs. His thrusts are strong enough to leave bruises and he's dislocated Balthazar's thigh at least twice. It hurts, but he pretends not to complain, lets it happen. Castiel's had worse before, after all. It's okay.

 

°

  
Castiel's anger comes to a head, though. There was always going to be a blow up, and It's their fourth anniversary, and Balthazar's 33 and home sick, Castiel would never agree to flying, hates flying, and he's terrified Balthazar won't come back if he goes home to Paris.

(He forgets Scotland, pretends Scotland never happened. Sometimes, Balthazar thinks he dreamed it.)

He keeps promising that one day, one day, one day they'll go, but Balthazar doesn't believe he'll ever see Paris again. He files it in the back of his head along with the first time Castiel hit him.

Castiel comes home drunk and angry, cursing about stupid people and stupid rent and stupid everything. He comes into the kitchen and Balthazar freezes, turns around slowly. Castiel's already put a fist into the wall by the time he does, and immediately begins advancing on Balthazar until the smaller man is backed into the counter. He puts his hands on either side of Balthazar's head and pulls him into a kiss that immediately makes Balthazar gag; he raises his knee and puts his hands on Castiel's chest, trying to push him off.

Castiel digs his nails into Balthazar's head and pulls away from him, giving Balthazar no chance to make an excuse before there's a hand around his throat. Castiel is strong, his hands large and powerful and soon he's got Balthazar standing on his toes and is throwing him into the wall. His head rings and he falls back and stumbles, right back into Castiel's grip. When he tries to pull free the motion is sluggish and pitiful and he only ends up hitting the ground almost as hard as he hit the wall.

Castiel's on top of him in an instant, dragging him back and throwing his fists around. He tears at Balthazar's clothing, snapping off buttons and ripping his pants apart. Combined with Balthazar's already weakened state and his swimming head, his attempts to push Castiel off of him are laughable at best. He keeps a hand over Balthazar's mouth, calls him a slut, calls him a monster, tells him he's just like Dean. Balthazar feels like there's razorblades being run along his spine. He claws at Castiel's hand fruitlessly, unable to cry out.

Balthazar only knows Castiel cums because his thrusts slow down and his head hangs. Before he finally pulls out he gives one last thrust, leans over Balthazar and calls him a whore and drags his nails down Balthazar's face as he does. He redresses himself and leaves Balthazar lying on the ground trembling and scared to move, chest hurting too much to breathe deeply. He waits until he's sure Castiel is gone, hears his car screeching off into the distance before he attempts to move.

It's agonizing and he can't climb to his feet. The blood on his face, on the floor makes it slippery and harder to move, his torn up backside making it nigh impossible. Balthazar reaches up and touches his face, unable to cover it because it hurts so much. When he touches his cheeks and his chin, his fingers come away bloody.

He weeps. He weeps for an hour, two, until the blood is sticky and he has to peel himself up. He can't walk without leaning against the walls, smearing blood as he goes and all but collapses into the shower.

He wants his heart to stop, wants to have died on the floor. A thought occurs to him: he can't stay anymore. He can't pretend. Whatever went down between Castiel and Dean - his Cassie, the Cassie he knew, wasn't there. Maybe he'd never been. Whatever anger Balthazar tries to muster up dies too quickly for him to make sense of it.

But he can't, thinking makes his pounding head hurt worse. He showers, blistering hot water intended to take off his skin; he wants to wash off every space Castiel's touched until nothing but bone remains. Castiel still isn't home by the time he gets out of the shower, and Balthazar's tempted to leave smears of blood like a written testament to what he did. It'd probably just anger him once more, because Castiel's not good with proof or truth.

He's too sore and broken to think about fleeing anymore; after he scrubs and scrubs everywhere, scrubs until it's four am and Cas should've been home but isn't, cleans everything and throws away his shirt and pants. He lets himself sleep until almost four in the afternoon, two hours before Castiel should be home, an hour before dinner should start.

A feeling of nausea settles over him as he digs through his closet and finds a box. Small and heavy, buried under piles of receipts is cash; he'd been saving it for something, something special, now he has to waste it running away. He's not even sure his car will run, it hasn't been turned on in months; he hopes it does. He finds a small bag under the bed and throws everything he needs in there. It's not much - money and clothing, identification and an old phone that needs wifi to work - but it's enough. All he needs. He takes a picture of Castiel and isn't sure if it's sentiment or the need to show him to people, so they know not to let him find Balthazar.

He's set, but the nausea increases with each step he takes, knees weak and wobbly. He wants the feeling and the fear to abate, tells himself he can call his parents and leave the country. Surely they'd help him...right. They'd remember him, even though he doesn't remember himself.

The nausea hits him hard like he's being slapped by waves and he stops, turns. Castiel keeps a mirror right by the door for when he goes out, to keep his looks in check. Balthazar's avoided looking at himself for a long time - years, even - but something seizes him, he _has_ to look, he _has_  to see.

He doesn't recognize himself from his watery memory, but he tries, desperately; he runs his fingers over his face, where there should be stubble, and feels his own broken and rough but clean shaven face. He sifts his fingers through his hair and tries to remember the last time it was so shaggy - he was 18, 20, long haired in college. He doesn't know who he's looking at, with their split lip and messed up hair and bruised mouth.

He doesn't recognize himself.

Balthazar is dead.

The clawing terror and sickness die almost instantly, replaced with a void. He's marked up and owned, the person he was before dead. He's not the comely scientist in a lab of asbestos samples cracking rather crude jokes. He's Balthazar, pretty as crunched glass, with broken porcelain teeth and rusted razor cheekbones.

It's not poetry. For a moment after realizing he wants to cry, for ten minutes he mourns himself, laments the change.

Then, as quickly as he'd decided to pack, he puts everything away - hides his pack under the sink, where Castiel never goes, changes back into his pajamas and starts on dinner.

After all, Castiel will be hungry when he gets home.


	2. what is a man who lays a hand on his lover and calls it tough love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dashed lines indicate large time leap, the single asterisk line indicates minor time break

Castiel brings a dog home.

He tells Balthazar it's for his depression, his mopiness, that his sour attitude is getting on Castiel's nerves. Balthazar thinks long and hard about suggesting the current prescription of near daily punches are detrimental, but instead asks, "What's his name?"

Castiel's in a rush and just shrugs, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and tells him, "I dunno. It's a rescue. Does it matter?" Balthazar nervously scratches the inside of his arm. "Are you too stupid to name your own fucking dog? Don't answer that, dumbass."

Balthazar clamps his mouth shut so hard he thinks his brittle jaw cracks a bit. Castiel brushes him aside and tells him not to take "it" beyond the backyard, fenced in as it is from prying eyes.

In a way, he's elated; he loves dogs, and he hasn't been outside in so long he feels like he's starting to wither. Carefully, he uncurls his clenched fist, untenses his clenched muscles, moves towards the dog.

He's just as shaky as Balthazar is, and lashes out without thinking; Balthazar feels teeth sink into his hand and he jerks back, panicked. But he's used to being cut up, being hurt that it's more shock than pain, and he doesn't pull away when the pup gingerly begins to lick the wound. Large green eyes stare up at him as if begging forgiveness, pleading. The name ' _Dean_ ' catches in the back of his head for some reason and he relaxes. Dean, Dean, Dean had green eyes, Castiel showed him pictures ages ago. Freckles like dust on his cheeks, beautiful dangerous face. A pull of guilt envelops him and he pulls back, lets the pup smell his uninjured hand. Dean is a good name, but he'd prefer to not have Castiel find another reason to be angry at him.

He settles on Baby, and goes to clean his hand, then do some research.

 

\---------- 

 

Pitbulls, he finds, do not technically exist as a breed. They're also a "dangerous breed", but Baby is reluctant and skittish and he cowers under Balthazar's chair in the kitchen. Having the dog there makes him feel less alone, like someone will still want him after Castiel's wrung every useful drop of energy out of him.

Baby relies on him as much as Balthazar relies on the pup, and it's good to feel needed in that way. Castiel threatens to cut his throat if he's not well cared for, and Balthazar would argue he does a better job caring for his dog than he does himself.

Baby is fiercely protective, too. Castiel had said he was a rescue, made an offhand comment about fighting dogs and such, and Balthazar only remembers this when he steps out of the bathroom to find Baby is no longer in the living room. He's not the brightest pup, easily tricked into a room by a treat or a toy. Worse still is Castiel standing in the kitchen, leaning on the dryer by balancing his body on his fists.

"Why isn't the laundry done?" he asks, and his voice is quiet and plain. Balthazar's learned to pick up the rage buried in his tone by now. "I need my work clothes cleaned, Balthazar. I can't go into work wearing a fucking t-shirt, not everyone in this house is a frowzy waste of space."

Balthazar licks his lips and considers lying, an old reflex, knows if he gets punched for the truth Castiel would do worse to him for lying. "The dryer isn't, uhm. It's not." He hears Castiel's knuckles crack and flinches, worrying the hem of his shirt with his bony fingers. "It keeps burning things."

"And why the _fuck_ didn't you feel it necessary to mention this _before_?" Castiel stands up quickly, turns to face him fully. "Are you fucking retarded?" Balthazar knows for a fact that he's told Castiel before - and Castiel called him an idiot, told him it _had_ to have been him, and Balthazar had no doubt that it _was_ something he'd done. He was stupid like that.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken as Castiel took a step towards him. He struggled to get out "I did, I did, I told you last week" but all that he manages is a weak and panicked "I'm sorry." He repeats it, twice, sound and strength dropping with each step Castiel took that forced him back. His legs were shaking by the time Castiel reached him and put a hand around his throat.

"Sorry isn't _good_ enough," Castiel snarls out as he tightens his grip and drags Balthazar onto his tiptoes. " _I_ actually have to _fucking work_ , unlike you." Balthazar put his hands on Castiel's wrist. He could swallow but the motion was uncomfortable, leaving him barely able to get out "please, please, stop," as Castiel's voice raises. "Stop what? Huh? Stop _what_?" He gives Balthazar a shake, forcing the other to lose his footing and fall when Castiel's hand suddenly loosens. Balthazar stumbles back and Castiel is on him in an instant, two large hands slamming with full force into his chest and shoving him hard enough to fall back.

The kitchen table is behind him, its chairs weak from disuse, and he lands on two of them on the left side. The first slides, knocking him back into the second when both collapse under his weight. The force of landing leaves him winded and for a moment he's terrified he's going to die. Castiel walks around him like a wolf around an injured rabbit, lip curled up. "You know, MAYBE if you FUCKING PAID ATTENTION instead dicking around with that damn dog all the time," Castiel grabs his arm and jerks him up to his feet, "Stuff like this _wouldn't fucking happen_."

Balthazar's head spins and he can hear his heartbeat frantically thumping away in his chest. "You piss me off so fucking much, you un _grate_ ful _fucking_ **swine**." He punctuates his words by slamming Balthazar into the wall after each. As the smaller man's vision swims Castiel closes in, pushes him into the wall. " _No one else wants you_ ," he hisses out, " _no one else cares_. The only reason I haven't snapped your fat fucking neck is because I'd have to clean up the fucking mess."

Balthazar's fingers touch the base of his throat at the threat. He tries to picture himself with a broken neck and it's startlingly easy to imagine; Castiel jerks him from his thoughts by tugging his arm and pushing him towards the bedroom. "Go. Don't you fucking come out until I get back." His steps are careful but quick, painfully aware that Castiel could change his mind and grab him again. He makes it to the bedroom without incident, going through the bathroom and using the attached door to keep Baby from bounding out of the room after his boyfriend.

He crawls into bed and beckons his excitable dog to follow, clinging to soft fur and breathing easier as Baby licks his face clean of tears. He's so sore, but thirsty and shaky, and when he hears the front door slam he climbs out of bed and gingerly makes his way to the kitchen. Baby follows, watching and whimpering in shared terror as he grabs a recently clean glass and pours himself tap water. It's not as cold as he'd like and generally unsatisfying but he drinks several glasses, wiping it clean when he's done and putting it back in the drying rack. He's gotten good at sneaking water, and it always calms him down. He chalks this up to a placebo effect and moves quickly back to the bedroom, shutting the door and climbing into bed.

Baby follows again, lying with his head on Balthazar's stomach as he flips through the television. Eventually he settles on boring stuff, a house hunter’s show, knowing the banal content will put him at ease.

 

***

 

Balthazar's used to being at Castiel's beck and call, and he's a light sleeper because of it. When he hears footsteps in the hall he lays still, a hand on Baby's collar in case the Castiel is still angry and the dog decides to attack. 

His breathing evens out before Castiel even opens the door and enters their bedroom. He walks softly, ignoring Baby's soft whimpers, and lays a paper Walgreens bag down on the side table. Castiel hesitates, then reaches over and touches Balthazar's cheek. His hand moves from face to shoulder, gently nudging Balthazar awake as he does.

Balthazar manages a pathetic smile as he moves to sit up; Castiel helps him before sitting on the bed next to him. He opens the bag and pulls out ibuprofen - Balthazar wasn't sure Castiel had heard him mention they were out - and water. Balthazar takes the pills, grateful to have something to dull the pain.

"I called someone to come look at the dryer," he says as he rubs a gentle hand over Balthazar's knee. He doesn't bother with 'I'm sorry' anymore, but his voice is low and warm and he seems to have worked his rage out. He kisses Balthazar before helping him lay back down, takes the paper bag and leaves the water and pills.

Balthazar doesn't relax as much as he used to, not since Castiel brought Baby home. He flinches more, the trapped feeling coming back to him like when he tried to leave and couldn't. He doesn't like not having those feelings buried and is scared to admit that the small freedoms Castiel's given him since getting the dog might be the cause. He doesn't _want_ to think being allowed to wander outside is a bad thing, he missed the sun and the grass so much while he was locked away. And Castiel was less likely to lose his temper when Baby was around.

Against his better judgment, Balthazar takes an extra two ibuprofen. He wants to smother the monsters, but mostly he wants to suffocate the voice in his mind bitterly repeating 'this isn't right, this isn't right, this isn't right...'

 

\----------

 

Things come to a head quicker than Balthazar would've liked them to. Six months after the dryer - after the oven and Castiel smashing his fingers in the door, after being slammed into a wall over and over because one of Castiel's few visiting friends called him cute, after Castiel stumbling home on his own birthday and dragging Balthazar into the bathroom so he 'wouldn't have to clean up after' -

Balthazar's birthday is a week away. Castiel never forgot a birthday, and mostly his own were lovely little things with kisses and a new book or a movie or sweater. Balthazar thought Castiel was putting extra effort into his birthday and holidays to make up for the rest of the year, and that was lovely to him. Balthazar would take eight extremely happy days of the year over none at all.

His birthday is on a Monday; Castiel would definitely take the day off, make him something special for breakfast - the year before he'd danced with Balthazar a lot, opened the back windows and napped with him on the porch. He hopes for something as nice as that. Castiel was dropping hints towards what it might be, and Balthazar was hoping for something outside again.

This was a week before his birthday and he was excited and cautious, more cautious than he'd normally be. He slips out of bed and went to the bathroom, brushes his teeth quickly - focused on the sink, making sure not even a drop of water is left on the porcelain. Castiel normally used the bathroom before leaving for work, and was probably in the kitchen drinking coffee and checking his phone. When Balthazar tiptoed into the kitchen, though, Castiel was hunched over the counter.

Balthazar stands quiet for a few minutes, waiting for Castiel to notice him. When his boyfriend doesn't move he takes a tiny, tentative step towards him, quietly saying Castiel’s name.

"The coffee maker is broken," Castiel's voice was even and hollow.

Balthazar's stomach began to clench and without thinking, he asks, "What? What'd you do?"

Castiel's head lifted and he turned around; Balthazar already knows what he's done wrong as his boyfriend picked up the cup of black sludge he's managed to get out. "What did you say?"

Balthazar doesn't take a step back immediately, because it would insinuate that what he'd said was wrong. Instead he stammers out, "I'm sorry, I just - is it maybe - maybe it just needs to be cleaned -"

"Just needs to be cleaned?" Castiel echoes back. "So - so, it's _my_ fault it's broken, _aaaaand_ I'm too stupid to tell when it _is_ actually broken. Is that- is that what you're suggesting?" Balthazar tries to say no but Castiel has already raised the cup up, has thrown it at Balthazar by the time he’s repeated, much louder, "Is that what you're fucking trying to say?"

The sludge isn't hot enough to seriously burn Balthazar but the mug hits him in the side. It breaks next to his bare foot and Balthazar’s certain a shard goes into his foot. The coffee maker itself comes next, catching him in the collarbone as Castiel stomps closer to him. "Why don't you fucking fix that, huh? How're you gonna fucking fix that?" He grabs Balthazar's arm as the smaller man attempts to escape and draws him close, then shoves him hard into the fridge. He catches Balthazar again and pushes him back against the wall next, screaming at him still. One hand pulls back while the other snatches the collar of his shirt, slamming into his mouth and nose repeatedly. Two, four, six times he hits Balthazar in the head leaving his world a blood and screaming mess.

The knocks disorient him for a minute. He doesn't know why but suddenly Castiel drags him forward a few inches before violently shoving him back into the wall and letting go of his shirt.

It was like the world shifted violently around. Balthazar's face and hands were covered in blood, but not _all_ of it was his blood. He can hear screaming, but it wasn't terrified pleading shrieks like his own normally are; they’re full of anger and pain. Then Balthazar sees red on white and realizes why: Baby had come out of the bedroom and attacked Castiel, sinking his teeth into his arm - the one he'd raised to hit Balthazar with - and knocked him down, going for Castiel's face and neck. Balthazar stood still, unsure of what to do. His first instinct is to cower away from the attack, but Baby could _kill_ Castiel. For a sick and sad moment Balthazar is actually _content_ with that.

He pushes the violent thought out of his mind and scans the kitchen. He hasn't been allowed to used the phone in almost a year for anything, doesn't know if Castiel even kept service to it because it never rang. The sick feeling comes back again, a distant pang of disappointment, when he hears the dial tone, but he swallows it and calls 911 anyway.

A woman on the other end of the line picks up. She's barely finished asking what was wrong before Balthazar says, "My dog is attacking my boyfriend." He’s surprised by his own calm tone and attributes it to the dizziness he’s feeling. "He bit his arm. He's got his throat."

"Where are you located?"

"At home. In the kitchen."

The woman goes quiet for a moment before asking, "Honey, can you give me your home address?"

Balthazar leaves the kitchen, trying to find something with his home address on it. He doesn't get mail ever, couldn't remember the numbers anymore. "No," he replies weakly, hoping he doesn't sound stupid.

After a few seconds of quiet, the woman speaks again. "Okay, sweetie, do not try to remove the dog. Is he growling at you?"

"No."

"Was the attack unprovoked?"

Balthazar crouches down slowly next to the door, holding one hand over his dripping nose. "No," he replies, a little weaker this time. He hopes Castiel, still yelling and thrashing in the kitchen, doesn't hear him.

"Was it over food?"

"No, no, no food was involved." He doesn't know why, but his eyes had begin to water and voice trembles. What was he scared of? Castiel couldn't get him right then. What would they do with Baby? In his experience, aggressive dogs weren't treated well.

Baby suddenly came wandering up to Balthazar. His head is low, white mouth and nose stained red. Balthazar could hear Castiel groaning in the kitchen, screaming all sorts of foul names; he doesn't know if Castiel is going to stand up and come after him or the dog. While the woman continues talking to him, he grabs Baby's leash and slips out the front door to sit on the porch.

It was a warm, sunny day, cloudless and colorful. He feels a little ashamed of himself to be sitting on his pristine front stoop covered in blood and tears and snot, with the few neighbors out and about watching him. Balthazar hopes the sirens in the distance, growing louder and closer, would keep them from wandering up to check on him.

Balthazar’s shocked by the amount of cars that came rolling up. An ambulance, an animal control vehicle and two squad cars all pull either into his driveway or in front of his house. He’s grateful; the procession blocked most of his neighbor's views. He tells the woman on the phone that the police have arrived and she wishes him good luck, sounding as uneasy as Balthazar does.

For only four cars, a lot of people file out of them. Aside from seeing neighbors through the windows, Balthazar hasn't seen so many people in so long. To see them all practically converging on him - if it wasn't for how horrible his head feels, he'd panic and flee.

The first two to approach him are an older woman with short brown hair and a younger black man, from the first squad car. They stop two feet from him, and the woman speaks. "Balthazar Paille?" When he nods, her face softens a bit and she leans toward him. "Is it okay if we take the dog?"

He eyes the animal control officers. "Are they... are they going to hurt him?" The comment seems to have everyone taken aback; it shows in their body language. "He didn't mean to. He wasn't trying to, to -"

"He'll be fine." The male cop assures him. "They're just going to take him for a little while, and check some things. He'll be okay." After a moment, Balthazar nods, and holds the leash out for someone to take. Baby whines as he was being lead away but doesn't fight. Balthazar feels like someone’s pulled his heart from his chest.

"Can you step over here, please? Just until they can retrieve your boyfriend." Balthazar nods and stands, still watching Baby. He follows the two cops down his yard to their car but they don't make him get in. Instead, they stand back and let him lean against the hood. "Balthazar, I'm Jody Mills. This is my partner Victor Hendricksen. We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's okay."

He doesn't look up as he nods. The truck was behind the ambulance and couldn't go anywhere until the ambulance was gone. Castiel would be gone before Baby was.

"Do you want someone to check you out?" Officer Hendricksen speaks for the first time. Balthazar realizes he means his own bloody face. He'd forgotten he was even hurt. "Did he attack you as well?"

"What?" Balthazar’s taken aback by the question. "No?" he thought back to when Baby had bit his hand, their first time meeting. He doesn't think it would help his dog's case. "No, he's never hurt me before."

"The dog…or your boyfriend?" Officer Mills put her hands on her hips but Officer Hendricksen was more relaxed, arms loosely folded over his chest. "It's okay, you can tell us the truth."

Balthazar shoots a panicked look towards the ambulance. He hadn't seen them bring Castiel out but they were already closing the back doors of the cart and turning the sirens on. Balthazar had thought it was protocol to have someone ride along, but frankly, he's too scared to be somewhere so confined with Castiel. "Are they going to put my dog down?" He asks abruptly. He has to know.

For a while, Balthazar's sure the answer is going to be "yes" and his eyes begin to sting. Finally Officer Mills explains, "That depends. Right now, to be honest, if you give us nothing to go on, they might. But, if you cooperate, if you're honest, it's far more likely he'll be placed back with you. Not promised, but likely."

Balthazar's jaw hurts. He didn't know what to so, but he knew what he was _supposed_ to do was lie. Lie and say, yes, my dog went wild, my dog hurt someone. Lie and let Baby get killed. He'd rather let himself die.

Instead he asked, voice wavering, "Can we talk inside, please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the road so far:
> 
> thanks to caroline hayden and viv for existing  
> thanks to leigh for pointing out all of the errors  
> thanks to faeryn for logging on to help me even though i'd forgotten and logged off after i asked her to  
> thanks to frankiethedebrielfan/sassygaythief for being a balthean fan, too  
> thanks to a certain sweet previous (anon) commentor for the long and interesting chat  
> thanks to ash for encouraging meto set things on fire  
> thanks to harley for great input and being incredibly sweet  
> thanks to peaches for being incredibly perfect and hilarious and keeping me laughing to balance my dour mood  
> and thanks to aria for helping inspire this story to begin with and having unwavering faith and patience in me because holy cow
> 
> -as always, please point out any errors you see in the story, con crit is always welcome :)


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